War of the Worlds: A Century Too Late
by Undead Raptor
Summary: The Martians swept over England with ease when the greatest human defence was cumbersome, antiquated artillery. Would they have had such luck if they arrived a century later?
1. Chapter 1

**September 21, 1997  
Surrey, England**

Adrian Dench jolted awake as the train shook. Blinking repeatedly to banish the sleep from his eyes, he let his head loll limply into the window, ignoring the slight pain that came with the bump as he surveyed the still-blurry Surrey countryside, or what wasn't obscured by the grey rain flowing down the windows and clouding the sodden fields. Part of him hoped he'd been asleep long enough to miss Woking entirely, but then a soft female voice came through the tannoy to gloat that they were about to stop in Brookwood. Last stop before returning to hell. Adrian had hoped he'd feel a little less resentful about having to come back once he'd gotten some sleep, but the flight to Farnborough had given him plenty of time to dwell. And to top it all off he had to pay out of his own pocket for a train, because his dad had been too fucking cheap to pick him up himself. Adrian glared at the rows of middle class brick houses as he mulled over it. University had been a blessing. No more family, no more late night rows, no more blame on him for everything that went wrong. Then he'd made sure to disappoint them a bit more by dropping out after his second year. He'd managed to cling onto living in Sheffield over the summer, but now he had to come back and leech for a bit. It'd probably be fine, but it was the fact that _those people_ would be around him twenty four seven. His long suffering, heavy drinking mother he could barely cope with, but it was his dad, Graham, he dreaded seeing with a passion. A few months before leaving for Sheffield, Adrian had taken to calling him Graham, knowing how much it fucked him off. Graham had earnt it. His contempt for people whose education had advanced further than GCSEs was articulated constantly, and it became unbearable once Adrian began applying for university. He'd smacked Adrian once around the chops for calling him a "Little Englander prick." Now Adrian was crawling back. His exploits in the pursuit of decent education had failed, and no doubt plenty of gloating was in store. He had a brand new sprinkling of light acne along his lower jaw too, which no doubt would be pointed out regularly. His brown hair was also threatening to grow enough to cover his ears, but it was the acne Adrian worried about. It was why he'd avoided looking directly at any reflective surface for the last two weeks, and that included the train carriage's window.

As the train clunked to a stop at Brookwood, its dripping wet brown Victorian central building resembling an old boarding school, Adrian reached into his rucksack and scooped out a Stephen King book. He'd been trying to get back into reading after grounding to a halt in consumption a few years ago. He'd certainly have plenty of spare time to do so nowadays. The pages were cold, which made turning them feel vaguely uncomfortable, so Adrian procrastinated on it. In the meantime he rested the back of his head against the hard seat and in his mind threw around the idea of ditching his family altogether and moving in with a mate from college. Simon Devlin was a good bet, perhaps, though he was working constantly at the Beefeater Grill. In that case maybe he could put a good word in for him, get him a job. Or Fran Murray. They'd been friends since Year 8, and had almost certainly fucked at a party last year, but neither had ever wanted to be the first to bring it up. Or maybe she just forgot altogether, she was out of Adrian's league after all. Actually, that made it more likely that she'd just repressed it. There was a depressing thought. But no, Adrian would have to go "home" first or no doubt there'd be hell to pay. He didn't feel like reading anymore, so he carelessly dropped the Stephen King back into his green rucksack.

By the time the outdated diesel train pulled into Woking, the rain had stopped and there were some golden rays poking out from the grey clouds. Adrian stepped onto the wet platform, dragging his black case behind him and making for the street. There weren't many people on the streets, but Adrian quickly found that every time he encountered someone walking in the opposite direction it would be he, with the heavy case, who had to move out of the way and onto the road. Walking up High Street in the direction of Horsell Common, with its Costcutter and launderette and Chinese restaurant and pet shop, he came upon Meadway Drive, heading out to the right. Down there was Fran's house. He could do it. What difference would it make if he got home an hour later than he expected? Muttering "Fuck it" under his breath, he pulled the case in a new direction, a slightly elevated mood coming upon him. Fran's place was a small brick terrace, with a big front garden and driveway holding a white Alfa Romeo 164 which looked so flimsy Adrian could pull it apart with his bare hands. As he approached the door, he felt a slight twang of nerves but tried to shake it off. He banged on the door a handful of times then immediately realised there was an electric bell. Closing his eyes in a moment of frustration, he waited. Then the door opened, and there was Fran.

She wasn't exactly dressed up. It was three in the afternoon and she was still in blue polka dot pyjamas, her scarlet hair messy enough to imply she'd just gotten up and her face pale without makeup. Her not inconsiderable eyes widened further when she saw him.  
"Oh my god," she squealed, more in surprise than delight.  
"Hi," was all Adrian could manage, half-laughing as he did so. There followed a very brief, yet deeply painful, moment of silence.  
"I guess you came home then?" she asked helpfully, forcing herself to smile as she tried to work out what to say. Adrian was struggling with very much the same thing, but had to make an effort.  
"Apparently so…" he trailed off.  
"Hey, sorry, come in, come in," Fran finally said, beckoning for Adrian to enter. Adrian followed her in and closed the door behind him, possibly a little too hard as the glass pane rattled when it hit. Fran half-ran upstairs and Adrian followed, a tad cautiously. Had he glanced at the copy of the _Mail on Sunday_ lying on a small table beneath the hall mirror and ignored the headline about Tony Blair's "cash in on White House visit," he might have seen the black box in the bottom right of the front page about a wave of bright explosions spotted on the planet Mars.

Meanwhile, a few streets away Brian Brookfield was walking his black cocker spaniel, Harry, on the edge of Horsell Common. Brian was taking it slow, as he always did. Shrapnel at Tobruk had lodged deep into his left leg many decades ago, and had left him nearly immobilised at times. But the weather was improving and so were his spirits. The common always looked gorgeous just after the rain, especially with that fresh smell that came with it, and Harry always loved a good romp about. There was no pain in Brian's leg for once and he savoured it as he marched through the wet grass, which soaked much of his old brown boots. He strode in amongst the teams of fir trees, their leaves turning a rusty bronze as autumn gripped them. All was quiet besides the birds, the low panting of Harry, and the squelching wet leaves beneath Brian's feet. He walked ahead of Harry, who was busying himself foraging amongst the leaves, as he made his way to the sand pits. He'd walk along the edge of the sand and do a loop around and back to Woking. It wasn't far now, he could see the clearing leading onto the pits.

He wasn't sure what happened next. There was a flash, bright orange and white, followed by a colossal boom and a shockwave which whipped his entire body, throwing him onto his back with a thud as the trees all around had many of their leaves ripped off. The pain in Brian's leg came back. Slowly he raised his head, still lying down, and saw dust and smoke racing towards him from between the trees. It swept over him but wasn't particularly thick. Brian felt something wet on his temple and turned his head to see a concerned Harry, whimpering mournfully. Brian slowly reached for Harry's snout and stroked it gently to calm him. He gradually clambered to his feet, surprised that he was able to so easily. But the moment he put weight onto his left foot, pain shot through his calve unbearably and he nearly collapsed again. It was only with the support of a nearby tree that he stayed upright. Having gotten himself back up, Harry stared ahead towards the sand pits. He couldn't see them through the trees, but that bright flash of light was gone. His first thought was that a plane had crashed. The idea brought back an image from '41, watching a distant sand-coloured Messerschmitt spinning wildly out of control with its tail belching fire before disappearing over the horizon. He hadn't thought about that for a while. Shaking his head, he hobbled towards the source of what must have been an explosion of some shape or form. Navigating between the trees, shivering in the autumn breeze and more than a little apprehension, and nearly slipping when his foot met a smooth, empty green bottle, he reached the clearing in the trees.

There lay an enormous hole in the middle of the sand pits, with the sand and gravel having been violently thrown in all directions upon the surrounding heath to form huge heaps a fit man would have trouble climbing. To the east, the heather was consumed in roaring orange fire which licked this way and that. Brian was thankful that fate hadn't come upon his part of the common, or he'd have surely been turned to charcoal, or choked out by the fumes. Once he took his eyes away from the fire, he looked back to the great hole and saw what lay within. Whatever had caused the explosion must have hit the surface with enormous wallop, for it seemed like most of it was buried in the hole. It was some kind of great cylinder, caked in a thick, crusty kind of grey organic matter, the colour of old flesh drained of blood, with a diameter of about thirty metres. For a metre around the cylinder in all directions, the sand had been burned to shining glass which glittered in the daylight. Even from this distance, Brian could feel the heat radiating from the object as steam aggressively hissed off its body and from the sand all around, like geysers.

Brian stood motionless, staring as his chest heaved to recover his breath from the shock of the sight. Then he began to notice that chunks of the crusty matter on the cylinder were beginning to peel off and fall onto the sand beneath, revealing a smooth silver surface beneath, resembling stainless steel. Brian had seen enough. He turned and began marching in his characteristic way right back through the trees and towards Woking, having no intention whatsoever of getting closer. He'd had far too many scrapes in his life to act that recklessly, and if it didn't kill him then he wife would. His arms swinging and Harry trotting beside him, clearly relieved to be going in the other direction, Brian noticed a couple of people coming towards him curiously.  
"'Scuse me," a spectacled woman asked hesitantly. "Did you see what made that bang?"  
"Don't go near it, leave it," answered Brian gruffly, not making eye contact. The eyes of the two people followed him for a moment before they continued towards the sand pits.


	2. Chapter 2

Adrian and Fran were so close to the bedroom window their noses nearly pressed against it, and their breath fogged up the glass. Over the rooftops of row after row of suburban houses, and beyond the treetops marking the boundaries of Horsell Common, rose smoke from the thunderclap which had shaken the whole house and throw both onto the floor. All around Woking, car alarms were screeching and anxious dogs barking. People were beginning to gather on the streets, chattering amongst themselves, speculating about what had happened. Most hadn't seen the smoke, or the light that preceded it. Adrian had. From the corner of his eye, a stream of bright yellow had come from the sky and vanished behind the trees before the great orange flash which preceded by a quarter second the boom.

"Oh that is fucking cool…" muttered Fran, her eyes wide with excitement. Adrian glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "What you think it was?"

"I don't know, meteor?" suggested Adrian. Now this would give him good reason for not getting home in time. Both he and Fran seemed to turn their heads to look at each other at the same time.

"Yes," said Fran quickly, anticipating what Adrian was about to say. Without another word, they both scrambled for the door, sprinted down the stairs, and burst through the front door, running into the street. They weren't the first; numerous people had gathered to talk among themselves, and Adrian could see that a few windows had been cracked or shattered altogether by the impact.

"Come on, let's get to the common before they seal it off," insisted Adrian, taking Fran by the hand and pulling her with him. They ran together down Meadway Drive, before skidding round up Main Street and towards the Common. The smoke was no longer coming up from behind the trees, but there were scatterings of people heading in the same direction. As they passed, Adrian overheard snippets of conversations, one person shouting "A meteor crashed into the bloody sand!" Well, that probably confirmed it. Maybe coming back to Woking today wasn't so bad after all.

Entering the Common, Fran and Adrian walked amongst the trees with several dozen other people all over the place, all going in a similar direction while others came running from the sand pits with the news of what they'd found. There was a general aura of excitement all around. Fran and Adrian were largely silent as they walked quickly towards the sand pits, naturally drawn in that direction by the throngs of people doing the same, like birds joining a formation. When eventually they reached the sand pits they were immediately struck by the sight of the still-steaming cylinder half-buried within its crater in the sand. Adrian stopped dead, and stared. That wasn't a meteor. A dozen people were gathered halfway between it and the edges of the sand pits, the object's great heat preventing them from comfortably getting any closer. Fran stepped onto the sand itself, hoping to get closer, but Adrian grabbed her wrist and pulled her back towards him.

"Oi!" she protested, not taking her eyes off the cylinder.

"Don't go near it," he warned. Fran didn't object, instead, semi-consciously, the two intertwined their fingers and watched as more people gathered on the edge of the heat still radiating from the great cylinder. The steam pouring from it and all around was now slowing to a whimper, but there was no activity from it. Adrian had thought it could be some kind of alien machinery, and until he was proven wrong he wasn't about to approach it.

"Do you think it's alien?" asked Fran. She seemed excited by the possibility, and Adrian could hardly pretend that he wasn't too.

"Well meteors aren't known for being metal," he joked.

"I mean it could have been just a satellite or something, but it's intact," said Fran. This was very true. The cylinder seemed to be completely undamaged. Their musings were interrupted by shouts, as a group of uniformed police officers entered the sand pits, ushering people away from the object. A couple of young idiots had started throwing stones at it, which had earned them a few shoves from their fellow bystanders. Slowly people were migrating away from the cylinder as the police insisted, though they were having plenty of trouble keeping so many curious souls at bay.

"Move back! Move back to the treeline!" bellowed Sergeant Stephanie Dawkins, waving away the resistant onlookers, and trying to keep her own eyes from being caught by the sight of the ghastly cylinder in the glass crater. She'd been halfway across town, just leaving the station, when the object had fallen to Earth. She'd seen it clear as day, dragging a long fiery tail behind it before hitting the ground behind the rooftops and trees with an almighty bang that shook all of Woking. She and Constable Charlie Habib and she had leapt into a Panda car and raced to the scene, terrified that a whole street had been flattened. She couldn't be more relieved that it had come down here instead, when just a few hundred metres south and it could have been catastrophic. Still, there was something unnerving about this thing. Stephanie assumed it was a piece of debris from a plane that had exploded in mid-air, thinking back to Lockerbie. That assumption remained, but every time she gave in and made another quick glance to the cylinder, it was knocked down another peg.

The congregating onlookers began to disperse back to the treeline, where a large crowd of perhaps a hundred was now assembling, all fairly well behaved though loud. Then Stephanie saw a uniformed constable she didn't recognise come jogging up to her.

"Sergeant," he panted, repeatedly looking to the object. "The Chief Inspector's coming, he'll be here shortly."

"Okay good, anything else?" asked Stephanie.

"What should we do with the crowd? We've got them at a reasonable distance, but I don't think it's far enough, not when we know what this thing is." Stephanie thought for a moment.

"Rope off the sand pits, let people stay at the edge for now. I'll let the Chief Inspector make the decision on the perimeter."

Right on cue, she spotted Chief Inspector Holcroft marching towards them, with his trademark grey moustache and stretched out, wrinkled face.

"What have we got, Sergeant?" he asked.

"Chief Inspector, here's our culprit," replied Stephanie, pointing to the cylinder. The heat from it was cooling now, so she could walk with Holcroft right to the edge of the crater and look down to see how it was well and truly plugged into the Earth. "No clue what it is, but we want to move the people out of Horsell Common altogether until we have some idea of what to do." Holcroft didn't so much stare at the cylinder as he did glare.

"Not now, it's not doing any harm. Just make sure no-one gets onto the sand pits, but we'll have to let people see it at least or they'll just get frustrated." He bit his bottom lip. "You think this could be something alien?" He said it so matter-of-factly.

"I wouldn't rule it out," said Stephanie, surprising herself with her bluntness.

"Well as far as I know, this hasn't happened anywhere else. If I wanted to invade Earth I'd land in the White House's rose garden, not Woking. I'll get in contact with Guildford, the Chief Constable will need to take control. News will spread fast, everyone in the Home Counties will be descending on us to take a look."

"And if this is the start of something bigger?" asked Stephanie anxiously.

"Just do your job, Sergeant," replied Holcroft curtly. "Haven't you always wanted to bear witness to the First Contact?"

Within the hour, Woking was chaotic at best. Police had poured in from surrounding towns, and now the streets were packed with their vehicles. Gawkers were still camped out in the woods, while the authorities waited for some people from nearby London to arrive. The BBC were also at the scene, but were being kept a safe distance away. All this was playing on the televisions inside 10 Downing Street, as Tony Blair watched anxiously with his arms crossed, his suit jacket lying across his desk while he stood before the flickering TV. Alastair Campbell, his closest aide, stood with him. They were waiting for an intelligence report, as none of the people they'd dispatched to Woking had arrived yet. This was really all a distraction from what felt like more important work, but it was fascinating nonetheless.

"Still don't know anything, I suppose?" asked Blair. Campbell shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he muttered.

There was little more to be said between the two. Half an hour later, several officials from the Home Office headed by Sir David Omand had arrived at Woking, their black Jaguars given a heavy police escort. Twilight was starting to descend on Woking.

Sir David exited the car to immediately be faced with Chief Constable David Williams, head of Surrey Police. They shook hands.

"Chief Constable, good to see you," said Sir David, looking around at the hubbub. At least a dozen police cars were parked along the read which skirted the southern edge of Horsell Common. "May I introduce Sir Robert May, Chief Scientific Advisor," he said, as the most senior official on scientific matters in the government approached, having exited the second car. There was another exchange of handshakes.

"Has there been any activity at all?" asked Sir David. Williams shook his head.

"Not exactly sir, but we're hearing noises from inside the object."

"Noises? What noises?" asked Sir Robert, alarmed.

"We're not sure yet. If you'll come with me sirs."

The pair, and their assorted suited advisors, followed the Chief Constable as they were tracked by hundreds of pairs of eyes from the assorted emergency services and civilians kept behind the blue and white police tape which now cut off Horsell Common from access.

"So the common's fully cut off?" asked Sir David as he ducked under the tape.

"Yes sir," answered Williams. "But we're still letting in people with press credentials, provided they stay off the sand pits. I'm not even letting any of our officers below Sergeant onto the sand.

"Sounds sensible," replied Sir David as they began to head through the trees, still surrounded by police going to and fro, most of them simply patrolling to make sure no-one unauthorised had snuck in. "Talk to me about those noises."

"They started only a few minutes ago, definitely coming from within. Sounds like water being swallowed by a plughole. We think it's movement, but we're not sure."

"Okay, sounds ominous," muttered Sir Robert.

"Agreed," said Sir David. Sir Robert began to brief Williams on what the government knew.

"At this stage we have to be certain that whatever this is, it's extra-terrestrial."

"I was afraid you'd say that," replied Williams. They reached the edge of the trees and there were the sand pits. Lying in the centre, in its crater, was the deathly still metal cylinder. Several officers were erecting searchlights to keep it lit up as the sky began to darken.

"Jesus…" muttered Sir David.

"The object was covered in some kind of flaky matter when it came down, but it's all melted off now. We think it was there to protect it from the heat of entering the atmosphere," said Williams.

"Have you got samples?" asked Sir Robert enthusiastically.

"That lot are collecting them now," Williams replied. He pointed to the small group of figures in full-body white protective clothing, who were clambering down into the crater itself to gather up what they could. "Turned the sand to glass when it hit. And you're sure it's alien?"

"We knew about it before it arrived, at least only a few hours prior," replied Sir Robert. "The Royal Observatory tracked it as it approached. We think it slowed down just before it impacted, otherwise the impact could have wiped out Surrey."

"So what is it, Martian?" joked Williams. Sirs Robert and David glanced at each other. Williams noticed. "Oh fuck off," he nearly shouted. He immediately noticed the Times journalist standing a few paces away, watching them with alarm. Williams breathed in sharply, and turned the subject elsewhere. "I suppose you'll want to take a look for yourself, yes?"

Sir David shook off his nerves, and followed Williams onto the sand pits. He noticed the black, burned out remains of the eastern heath.

"Thank god no-one was here when it hit," he said. Williams was about to reply when the white-clothed officers were seen to be scrambling out of the crater in a hurry. Instinctively, the approaching party stopped in their tracks.

"It's opening!" shouted one, and at that Sir David was filled with dread which enveloped his body like freezing water. One of the officers came straight to the Chief Constable.

"What's happening?" Williams demanded.

"The object's unscrewing itself. This is it," he replied.

"Okay, all of you get back," insisted Williams, and the officers wasted no time in doing so. The press on the treeline had all seen the commotion and watched in silence, as television cameras broadcast the whole thing. The world was watching. Williams brandished his radio.

"Send up some firearms officers, right now," he demanded.

"Wait!" protested Sir Robert. This could be… well, as that fellow said, this could be it. We don't want to appear threatening."

"I'm not taking any chances," replied Williams. Sir David saw a half dozen uniformed officers carrying long G3 rifles approaching apprehensively to join them. He glanced at Sir Robert.  
"Well… here we go." Slowly they approached the pit.

Immediately upon the approach of the party which now numbered some fifteen people they could see the movement on the object. From within, the top of the cylinder was being unscrewed like a bottle cap. For something apparently alien it seemed rather rudimentary in its design, like how a Victorian might have imagined a non-terrestrial vehicle. It was only upon getting closer that they could actually see what was happening clearly, for the rotation of the cylinder was slow and thus subtle. As it rotated, the lid of the cylinder rose into the air, before toppling and falling from the object altogether, landing with a dull thud on the inner wall of the crater. All eyes were fixed on where the lid had come from.

Then, from within the darkness of the cylinder's innards, came movement. No-one really knew what to expect. Something long, thin, and glistening with unidentifiable dark orange goo came writhing out. A tentacle, that much was obvious. It splattered down onto the body of the cylinder, wiping its slime, which turned out to be a translucent orange, across it like the slime of a snail. Then a second, and a third, tentacle followed. Each were perhaps six or seven feet long, and as wide as a man's arm. The small party standing before the cylinder took several steps back in unison. The owner of these appendages had yet to emerge. There was only silence, besides the distant rotors of an observing police helicopter.

Then a body began to emerge. A thick, meat-coloured bulk was rising slowly out of the cylinder, itself the size of a bear, glistening with the slime that enveloped it. It had no identifiable separation between head and body, but two great black eyes observed the beings it had found before it. Before these eyes, a lipless mouth quivered and dripped thick gluey saliva, while the whole body heaved with difficult, panting breaths. With its emergence had come a thick sulphuric stench, almost more unpleasant than the sight itself. There was no beauty to be found in this giant tentacled amoeba.

The two sides stared each other down for a brief moment. Behind them the television camera projected the sight to millions of persons on every continent. And then, the being slipped back into its protection within the cylinder, vanishing. Its tentacles slipped back in with it, but the top of the cylinder remained open for a few more moments before an internal sheet of metal closed. Silence hang over the air, sharing its place with the awful alien stench. The armed police officers slowly began to step forward, surrounding the cylinder to check that the creature was truly encased back within its metal cocoon. The Chief Inspector was the first to speak.

"Jesus…" was all he could manage. Sir Robert then offered something of more substance.  
"Get London on the line," he demanded. "We need the Army."


End file.
